with people like me
by louisaeve
Summary: and the whole time, she was singing this song, playing this nursery rhyme that warned him


**with people like me**

louisaeve

* * *

Lily pulled back from James, a smile on her lips, her breath whitening in the air and brushing his lips warmly. "You're so beautiful," James smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her lips and Lily gave a slight giggle of response, a murmur of sound, reassuring him that she had heard. A blush touched her cheekbones, colouring the sharp lines of her face, the porcelain, the ivory of her skin, delicate and as unblemished as a red head with freckles could be.

And she looked away, into the moonlight, it's silvery light bouncing off her hair in silvery beams, strands illuminated as she gazed at the stars, the burning balls of light dotting her green irises and her pupil.

And in turn James looked at her like she was the stars, like she was the moon, like she was the fucking _sun_ and she smiled and looked away still, her gaze turned to the pretty lights in the night sky.

** ❝ Do not fall in love**

**With people like me.**

**people like me**

**will love you so hard**

**that you turn into stone**

**into a statue where people**

**come to marvel at how long**

**it must have taken to carve**

**that faraway look into your eyes ❞ **

* * *

"James," Lily gave a slight laugh, her lips twisting in a pretty, shiny, blood red mess. "James," her mouth opened slightly as she cocked her head to look up at him through hooded lashes, laden down by days worth of mascara and eyeliner, painted on thickly. "James," she surged forward and her lips touched his, their breaths, their tongues, their _souls_ mixing, becoming one. "Isn't it beautiful?"

And they broke apart, their arms entangled around one another and then she's swirling the two of them around, their feet pitter pattering on the dewy ground, painting patterns to rival Van Gogh, painting swirls and lines and arcs and spirals across the ground, it's green and brown mess, dotted with purples and yellow. Their paint was the blue of her dress, a vivid, haunting, bright, _electric _ blue and the black of his pant was part of the caves, like his hair. Her own swirled around, having come loose thanks to James' own ministrations, decorating more brightly and her green eyes whirling, shining with the bright light from the moon and the stars, and her skin the creamiest pink ever known to man, while his was tanned and dark and the two were a deep contrast, and all that he knew was that the _vivacity_ and the _brightness_ and the _contrast_ would be forever **burned** into his mind and no way in _hell_ could he ever forget this moment.

**❝Do not fall in love with people like me**

**we will take you to**

**museums and parks**

**and monuments**

**and kiss you in every beautiful**

**place so that you can**

**never go back to them**

**without tasting us**

**like blood in your mouth ❞ **

* * *

"Don't James! Don't!" Lily's screaming, screaming, crying out for _something,_ for **anything**. "I just . . . everything has just _collapsed_," her tears are running down in mascara laden tracks along her cheeks, and then she's throwing pillows and books and papers and quills and in pots and photos and clothes and rugs and shoes everywhere.

"James, James, James," and she's screaming his name like a mantra, screaming it and yearning for something, **anything**, something he can't give him, because she's an explosion, she's turned the whole room, his whole house into a wreck, into a world where the apartment is in a constant mess of purely and simply Lily, and it's a mess, mess, mess.

"James, James, my dear sweet James," it's quieter screams, loud whispers now, prayers she's sending up to a god of war, a goddess of vengeance, and it's raw and aching, just like he is.

**❝Do not come any closer.**

**people like me**

**are bombs**

**when our time is up**

**we will splatter loss**

**all over your walls**

**in angry colors**

**that make you wish**

**your doorway never**

**learned our name ❞**

* * *

Her fingers claw his back, and they are such a beautiful pain, such a tragic and deep and powerful pain, that he can almost mistake it for lust and she's clawing him and biting him and it's so, so, _so_ beautiful and aching and they cling to each other, or rather she clings to him, in this aching, burning fashion, and it's a mad way of touching, and yet he reverently kisses and soothes and their lips meet.

It's all contact, skin to skin, nail to nail, teeth to teeth. And then she's breathy and then all he hears are her little pants, her pants of _James, James, James_ and then he presses her name to her neck and her collarbone, her bones sticking up through her skin in angles, making way for lines and tracks of starlight and sunlight.

And he thinks that if this is pain is so very beautiful and if this is hell this has to be a hell Satan himself crafted, so sculptured and curved in sharp lines, a vision from marble. It's too perfect to be an angel, and he doesn't deserve an angel, so it must be a demon, but if it's a demon, it's the most perfect, the most angelic demon he could ever know. The most angelic demon he could ever have the fortune to meet.

**❝Do not fall in love**

**with people like me.**

**with the lonely ones**

**we will forget our own names**

**if it means learning yours**

**we will make you think**

**hurricanes are gentle**

**that pain is a gift**

**you will get lost**

**in the desperation**

**in the longing for something**

**that is always reaching**

**but never able to hold ❞ **

* * *

"I'm sorry Lily," his hands are wrapping the strands through his fingers, lacing the glimmer; lacing the sunlight.

"Sorry?" she shrieks, because what can she do with apologies? What can this goddess, this deity, do with apologies?

And she pulls away, her white dress falling around her like a swirling mess, like a set of wings, like an aura, floating and swirling, a pretty gown of clouds threaded together to become gossamer silk.

And she's all swirling rage, and she shatters him so beautifully in a single cry, and he's spent at her feet, and normally he'd have the energy to be at least a little angry, but she's fallen apart now, she's completely and utterly _shattered_ herself, and is a reflection of the world around them.

Her parents are gone, just today and her sister is too, in a way that fifteen your old him would never have.

**❝Do not fall in love**

**with people like me.**

**we will destroy your**

**apartment**

**we will throw apologies at you**

**that shatter on the floor**

**and cut your feet ❞**

* * *

And she does leave him - or maybe he was the one that left her, a mix of blood and tears and cries, _cries_, for something, anything; maybe they're both crying for something else.

And she's the kind of person dreamt of from afar, and yet somehow he managed to cling to her. Or maybe she clanged to him. But she touched him, and beached with him, always with words of warning. _Don't fall in love_.

**❝We will never learn**

**how to be soft**

**we will leave.**

**we always do. ❞**

**- do not fall in love with people like me by alonesomes on **


End file.
